


Fight Your Corner

by rhymeswithmonth



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Baby Sybil, Babysitting, Canon Gay Character, Character Study, Closeted Character, Denial of Feelings, Downstairs Dads, Feelings, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Oral Sex, downstairs family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 15:23:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhymeswithmonth/pseuds/rhymeswithmonth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chapter Two:<br/> "Do you want to marry Prince Jimmy?" Miss Sybil asks in that innocently cutting way that only children posses.</p><p>"Why do you ask that highness?" Thomas asks, carefully keeping his features blank as the white bed-sheet he's currently trying around the girl's neck. </p><p>"Everyone want to marry Jimmy." She says, like its easy as that, twisting to make sure her cape is draping to her satisfaction. "And you look at him lots. Even more than Ivy and everyone knows that she wants to marry him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A place to dump my Thomas/Jimmy feels. First one is sort of a Jimmy Character Study.
> 
> Title is from the discussion between Thomas and Edward Courtenay in ep 2.2, which I think is one of the best looks into Thomas' mentality that we've gotten so far.

 

To begin with, he would like to be absolutely clear: he is not a poofter. 

 

He likes girls. He looks at Lady Mary and knows that her delicate features, long lashes and full rouged lips are beautiful. He watches Ivy stretch on tiptoes to dust the cobwebs amongst the dangling crystals of a chandelier and admires the way her dress grows taught under her arms and across her chest. He likes the delicacy of Daisy's nimble hands forming dough into neat little loafs, fingers quick and feminine. The maids' cheerful singing as they flit through the house, high and soft is pleasing to his ear, far more than the rough timbre of the other men. 

 

His first kiss had been with his cousin Abigail when he was seven years old. She was nine and seemed very grown up and worldly so when she'd dragged him away from the others to push him into Mummy's rose bushes and press her lips against his he hadn't questioned her. "It's just practice Jimmy." She had said haughtily when he'd recoiled, grabbing his hands roughly and kissing him again. "For when we're married." He hadn't seen the appeal of it then, but Abbey had smelled nice and her lips were soft so he let her.

 

When he was eleven Beth Rivers had kissed him behind the woodpile at the autumn festival. He'd tangled his fingers in her copper hair and they had snogged through two waltzes and a two-step while sparks from the bonfire drifted over their heads. Beth had tasted like candy and apples and he had liked the warmth of her hands on his shoulders. 

 

Adele Charron had moved to town when he was fifteen. She was an exotic beauty, with waist-length black curls and huge violet eyes. She'd let him touch her breast, pale flesh warm and firm in his palm, her rich Parisian accent spilling praise and encouragement.  He had become aroused easily when she pressed her curvy body to his, drunk on her sunsuality.

 

It's not his fault, he thinks as he pumps his hips rhythmically, that the village girls his age are too well behaved to fool around with him these days. Half of them are married anyways, out of his reach, and the other half are all either too prudish or too unattractive to bother with. He moans deep in his throat before he remembers himself and clenches his teeth agains the sound.

 

He supposes he could pursue one of the more conservative girls, it is what's expected of him after all. There are a couple of young singles in town who are pretty enough and whose fathers are eager to marry them off. But that would mean taking the time to court them, woo their families. He throws his head back agains the wall, shuddering from his toes all the way up his body. He doesn't have the time. The duties as first footman take up all the hours in a day, and if he allows himself to be distracted Alfred might start having ideas about usurping his position. He's worked to hard to get to where he is, there is no room for slip ups. 

 

He can feel himself getting close, the muscles of his abdomen twitching where his waistcoat is rucked up. He reaches out with both hands to grip dark hair between his fingers, letting go all pretense of restraint and thrusts with abandon. He doesn't think he'd like being married anyway, being responsible for another person, having to care for her, keep her happy, withstand the nagging that was garunteed to plague his life. No, he is at his prime, young and handsome and making good money, why not enjoy that while it lasts? He has his whole life to be shackled down, no use in rushing it. 

 

Orgasm hits him suddenly and violently, his knees collapse and it's only the wall at his back that keeps him upright. It takes all of his concentration not focused on his prick to keep his from yelling. His hips keep moving throughout in uneven jerks, and he yanks hard on the hair in his fists. 

 

He dimly registers Thomas touching himself, arm working quickly in the shadows between his legs as he swallows around Jimmy's twitching prick. It's a useful skill that he has, never allowing a single drop of ejaculate to get on either of their uniforms. Jimmy's prick grows soft and sensitive so be pushes the older man away and retrieves his trousers from where they'd fallen around his ankles. 

 

He never watches. He's not a queer, he doesn't like to watch. He can't help but hear it though, the slick sound of flesh, a bitten off gasp. He keeps his back turned resolutely, face heated with the lingering glow of release. When he hears the sound of clothes rustling, he turns back, making a show of smoothing out his jacket. Thomas tucks his handkerchief deep into the inside pocket of his uniform and pulls out a cigarette and his book of matches. 

 

Jimmy shuffles his feet, looking skyward as the familiar smell of smoke drifts between them. "I...I'd best get back." he says after a minute, "They'll be looking for me I 'spect, too much to ask that dinner'll be prepared without my help."  he feels, like he does every time, the uncomfortable urge to thank him, like he's just helped with a chore or done him a favour. 

 

"'course." Thomas replies with a flash of a smile, his voice hoarse. "Mustn't let our young Alfred think he's got a shot after all."

 

"Heaven forbid." Jimmy agrees, feeling his body relax. This is familiar, this is safe. Just the under-butler and head footman having a smoke in the courtyard. "Well Mr Barrow, I'll be seeing you at dinner."

 

"Aye." Thomas rasps, pale face illuminated by the embers at the end of his cigarette. "Away with you." his words trail off and Jimmy can't help but look up at the narrow figure, hair disheveled where his fingers clung. Unthinkingly he reaches to brush it back into its usual careful style. 

 

He realizes his mistake immediately and recoils, but already Thomas' eyes have flicked up to stare at him intensely under dark brows. The light from the small second-story window above them casts deep shadows about his square jaw, straight nose and strong cheekbones. His broad shoulders are slumped, his thin lips uncurling from around the cigarette, and he exhales the smoke slowly into Jimmy's face. "Go Jimmy." he says dully. "Just go please."

 

He flees, his heart beating high in his chest. The door opens easily into the tool-room, which they'd locked, and then into the brightly lit hallway beyond. He heads quickly to his room and grabs a cloth from the water basin and runs it once over his flushed brow and under his collar. He takes a shaky breath and then unbuttons his trousers with trembling fingers and slips the rag down to run over his limp prick. He cleans himself with quick efficiency before buttoning up again and tucking in his shirt.

 

He'd like to reiterate, Jimmy Kent is no queer. He lets Thomas, a man, suck his prick because it's convenient. God knows he's seen results of other servants' dallying. The maids still gossiped about that Ethel girl, and the tone downstairs tended to grow sour whenever Daisy and Ivy quarreled, only going back to normal when the girls were friends again. No, this was a neat solution, Jimmy smiled shakily at his reflection in the mirror, no commitment, no risk of bastards, and there were no jealous suiters if nobody knew about it. 

 

And there had been, would not ever be any...buggery. Absolutely not. He knows that Thomas wants it, is aware of the man's eyes on his body when he stoops to tie his shoes, but Jimmy will never budge. Thomas is his friend, and its good that this small concession on Jimmy's part can bring him happiness, but there are lines even among brothers. This arrangement they have is mutually beneficial as it is, no need to go any deeper. 

 

Because Jimmy is no homosexual. Really.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is unrelated to chapter one. I was thinking about all of the things that I want to see in season four, which mostly just includes Thomas and Jimmy being bros, and Thomas being cute in some way with baby Syb. Bonus points for Jimmy turning out to be simply closeted and then they can have a big gay love story. I've tried to convey a bit of that repressed sexuality in this oneshot.

Miss Sybil is lying unresponsive on the bench in the kitchen, and roughly sixty percent of the waiting staff is in pandemonium over the fact. 

 

Reed, one of the junior footmen that Mr Carson took on in June in order to make up for his own flagging health was the one to find her. The poor boy, a nervous, twitchy fellow on the best of days, had dropped the basin he was carrying, sending grungy water spilling over the floor and bringing Mrs Patmore running. Her wail when she had spotted the limp body of their young mistress draped so still was what caused a small crowd to gather in the doorway, maids and footmen alike pushing and shoving to get a better look. 

 

"I don' know what happened!" Wails Miss Madelyn, Miss Sybil's current nurse. She's relatively new, the third one they've hired this year. Miss Sybil is a spirited child and seems to have made it her mission to burn her way through the towns entire population of hirable unmarried women. The family is attempting to discourage her pranks, but it would probably probably be more effective if Mr Branson didn't look so proud when she pulls them. "I jus' turned me back for a second! Oh what'll I do?"

 

"Someone should send for a doctor!" Daisy says anxiously, rocking from foot to foot and biting her lip. "And get notice to Mr Branson."

 

"Poor Mr Branson." On of the maids whimpers, and that sets off the other girls, all tittering and weeping. 

 

"Get a hold of yourselves!" Jimmy barks, fighting his way passed the teary women and terrified men, "Disgraceful, the lot of you. If Mr Carson could see you know you'd all be sacked! Now, have you tried to wake her?"

 

Daisy blinks slowly in that way of hers that makes you think of an animal that's just been hit on the head. "Why, no, we're all afraid ta touch her 'case we make it worse."

 

Jimmy sighs long-sufferingly and kneels gracefully beside the girl's prone figure. Her small white hands are arranged nearly atop her scrawny chest, raising and falling with each regular breath. He lays the back of his hand on one chubby cheek and pats gently. "Miss Sybil." He says evenly into the shell of one ear, "Miss Sybil can you hear me? If you can hear me please open your eyes."

 

A faint quiver of long, dark eyelashes is the only response he gets, and the little lady remains where she is, tiny shoe dangling off the bench, blue ribbon fluttering over the stone tiles. "Very well." Jimmy rises, "We'd best fetch Dr Clarkson. Mr Fox if you'd run to find Mr Barrow he can telephone the family and let them know of Miss Sybil's condition. They'll want to come right home I expect, so we should also prepare to have dinner for them when they arrive. The doctor should be here within the hour but in the meantime I suggest we move her to her bed-"

 

"Thank you Jimmy." Thomas interrupts, striding into the room, the crowd parting easily before him, "But I believe you will find that won't be necessary." The older man stops beside the bench and bends neatly at the waist, laying one gloved hand against Miss Sybil's temple. "What ails our young Lady isn't something that Dr Clarkson will be able to cure."

 

The gasping and wailing starts up anew, and Daisy keeps forward, hands wringing her apron, "Oh but Mr Barrow, whatever will we do? What'll wake her up?"

 

Thomas levels the room with a solemn look and says, deathly serious, "Magic."

 

The kitchen becomes so silent that you can hear the creek bubbling faintly through the open window. It must be a joke, but their aloof under-butler is not the jesting type. 

 

Jimmy glares at Thomas, and the older man gazes evenly back, eyebrows raised as if baring him to challenge him. Jimmy's frown deepens, eyes narrowing in confusion. Thomas lifts one shoulder. The two of them do this a lot, have silent conversations. It makes the rest of the staff uncomfortable, as it often means that they're likely hatching some sort of plan that will make some or all of them miserable. This time however, Jimmy is just as out of the loop as the others. He raises his hands in concession and steps back from the bench. 

 

Thomas nods and turns back to the child at his side. "Yes," he muses thoughtfully, bending slowly lower until he's bowed fully over Miss Sybil's body, "Only magic can save our princess." He presses a soft kiss to the girl's smooth brow. 

 

Mrs Patmore makes a sort of choked off screech of protest because, despite the fact that Miss Sybil's upbringing has been far from conventional, there are still lines that must not be crossed and even though the servants are practically raising the girl while her father manages the estate, they do not kiss her. 

 

But the cook is quick enough to clap a hand over her mouth when Miss Sybil's eyes open, gloriously grey and awake. The girl beams and lunges forward, wrapping her small arms around Thomas' neck like a vice. "My hero!" She giggles shrilly, "You saved me!"

 

Shockingly, the man does nothing to remove the girl from his person, instead straightening slowly and bringing his hands up under her arms to hold her securely to his chest, "Just doing my job your highness. What kind of prince would I be if I couldn't even save my princess."

 

"A naughty one!" The girl shrieks and dissolves into more giggles, hands fisted into the fabric of Thomas' jacket. "Naughty prince Thomas! And you won't be allowed to marry me!"

 

"A fate worse than death." Thomas responds, and steps up to hand the child to Miss Madelyn, who takes her, looking rather gobsmacked. The whole room gapes at Thomas as her busies himself straightening his uniform, smoothing his lapels and brushing a hand over the sleeves. "Well," he says once he's satisfied that everything is in order, "get back to it then, plenty to do move along."

 

The staff trickles out, Miss Madelyn declaring loudly that it was time for the little Miss' nap. Within minutes only Jimmy is left in the kitchen with Thomas, the two men standing at opposite ends of the long room. Jimmy waits expectantly, hands on his hips. Thomas smirks and pretends not to know what his friend is asking. Jimmy shakes his head fondly and rolls his eyes, turning on his heel wordlessly and breezes out of the room. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Oww ow ow!" Alfred hisses, flinching away from the bite of tiny fingernails in the flash under his jaw, "I don't get it, why can't one of you be doing this?"

 

"Quiet!" Miss Sybil scolds him, palm smacking his ear, reprimanding. "Horsies can't talk!"

 

"Yes Alfred," Jimmy sneers, savouring the sight in front of him, "Do hush up man, you're really doing a terrible job."

 

"Oh you can just s-"

 

"Careful Alfred." Thomas interjects before the young man can say something unsavory in front of the young mistress. He tilts his head back, allowing the light to fall on the ornate tiara sitting atop his dark hair, making the gemstones glisten. "You know that Jimmy and I can't be horses, for then who would be the princes?"

 

"Yeah!" Miss Sybil agrees heartily, "Silly Aflred! Go faster!" She kicks enthusiastically at Alfred's ribs, making the man wheeze painfully. 

 

Jimmy sighs happily and adjusts his stance to that he's settled more comfortably agains the trunk of the oak tree they're standing under. He still felt uncomfortable wearing one of Lady Grantham's antique tiaras, but watching Alfred getting abused by a four-year-old makes it worth it. 

 

Beside him Thomas' hand twitches toward his pocket, an aborted grasp for the cigarettes that aren't there. He still smokes a lot more than Jimmy would like, in his opinion something that smells that bad can't be as harmless as everyone says they are, but he refuses to let himself around Sybil. It doesn't stop the habitual twitches though, the nervous fidgeting of his pale fingers when he has nothing to to occupy himself with. 

 

"It's surprising you know." Jimmy says when Alfred has galloped far enough away that they can speak quietly and not be over heard, "How much she loves you."

 

Thomas hums in agreement, pale eyes following the pair's lurching path around a patch of shrubbery, "Yes, who would've thought." He murmurs, "Somebody loves ol' Thomas Barrow. Miracles do happen."

 

"That's not what I mean." Jimmy huffs, "And you know it."

 

"If you say."

 

"I just mean, you would have been a good father. I wouldn't have expected it."

 

"Because of how I am." It's not a question.

 

"Yes." Jimmy agrees honestly. "It's a shame. When so many horrible men have children and are horrible fathers." He kicks at a root, eyes flicking briefly to his companion's face, "Me for example, I'll be rubbish."

 

"No you won't."

 

"I will!" He insists, "haven't got the patience for it."

 

"You do alright with our little miss."

 

"It's all fine and dandy when it ain't your child, but if it were, I couldn't do it. Not in my nature."

 

"Nonsense." Thomas' hand spasms against his thigh again, reaching, searching, and then remembering that his fags are all the way back in his room. "Oh bloody hell."

 

Silently Jimmy hands him his pocketknife, which he takes and immediately starts gauging the tree behind them. "Have you ever considered?" Jimmy begins tentatively.

 

"Considered what Jimmy."

 

"Just...trying it? Starting a family. Despite...everything."

 

"'Course I have." Thomas snorts, "Had my fair share of sweethearts too, back in the day, _surprising_ as it may be. For years I tried. Forced myself. But as you said Jimmy, it not my nature."

 

"Not even for babes of your own?"

 

"I'd not be happy with a wife, and I could never make one happy either. It's best this way."

 

Jimmy is getting angry, it happens a lot when he talks to Thomas about these things. His heart starts to beat to hard and sweat beads on his body. "Best?" He grits through his teeth, "Best to be alone? Best to grow old with naught but the whispers of others' suspicions as company? Does that make you happy? To be different until the day you die?"

 

Thomas looks at him and Jimmy has to restrain the urge to punch him. "I don't know how to be anything but what I am James." He sounds tired. Looks tired. Looks old suddenly. He's not really, not that old. It wasn't that uncommon for a man of thirty-six to marry for the first time. 

 

"But what you are...it's miserable. You'll be miserable. Does it not frighten you?"

 

Thomas doesn't answer for a long moment. Just watches Jimmy with that intensity that makes his throat clench up, makes him want to run from all the things he doesn't understand. "You aren't a cruel man Jimmy." He finally says, "So stop pretending to be. It's wearisome."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Do you want to marry Prince Jimmy?" Miss Sybil asks in that innocently cutting way that only children posses.

 

"Why do you ask that highness?" Thomas asks, carefully keeping his features blank as the white bed-sheet he's currently trying around the girl's neck. 

 

"Everyone want to marry Jimmy." She says, like its easy as that, twisting to make sure her cape is draping to her satisfaction. "And you look at him lots. Even more than Ivy and _everyone_ knows that she wants to marry him."

 

"Yes, she could work on her subtlety." Thomas agrees, lifting Miss Sybil off the stool and setting her down on the floor. "But when I look at Jimmy, it's because he's my friend."

 

Miss Sybil purses her lips and nods slowly. "But friends sometimes marry each other. Aunt Mary said that Uncle Matthew was her bestest friend in the whole world."

 

Thomas shakes his head, baffled. The girl just flounces over to the dresser and tugs the third drawer open. Thomas hurries to her side to lift out the heavy jewelry box and brings it over to the bed. "Is Jimmy your bestest friend Thomas?" She asks, clambering up onto the bed and settling her sheet-cape around her. 

 

"Yes, probably." Thomas admits, perched on the foot-board. Not that long ago he would have said that he had no friends, only people who hated him less than other people.  That he didn't need anyone but himself. 

 

"And you want to marry him."

 

"No... Miss Sybil, I'm a man, and Thomas is a man. Two men don't get married."

 

"Neither do chauffeurs and ladies." The child says, stormy eyes wide and earnest. "My pa said that it doesn't matter if the rules say you can't. If you love somebody you gotta be with them while you can."

 

Thomas blinks away the burning behind his eyes while the child goes about rummaging through her jewelry as if what she'd said had been nothing important. She's humming tunelessly while digging through the treasures inherited from generations of Crawley women. "But my dear." He whispers, "Our young Jimmy doesn't want to marry me."

 

She holds an opal necklace up for inspection before draping it around her slender neck, winding it three times so that it doesn't hang passed her waist. "Why not?"

 

"Well, Jimmy wants to marry a girl."

 

"A girl...like Ivy?"

 

"Yes. Exactly like Ivy."

 

Miss Sybil scrunches up her little button nose in a decidedly unladylike way. "But you're so much nicer than Ivy. And handsomer. And you're a prince." She plucks up the jade-encrusted crown that she decided was his when she was two, and arranges it on his head. 

 

"And every prince needs a princess right?" Thomas says gently, "And I have you. But Jimmy needs to find his own princess."

 

She shakes her head, dark curls flying. "That's stupid." She says, shoving a bracelet up each arm. 

 

"Language highness." Thomas murmurs. She generally tends to ignore him. 

 

There's a couple minutes of silence while Miss Sybil puts a ring on each small finger. "Jimmy looks at you too." She says, wiggling her wrists so that the loose bands jangle against each other. "When you aren't looking at him."

 

"Well, sometimes friends look at each other too. We...watch out for each other. Princes have to take care of other princes until they find their princesses."

 

The little girl scowls her best scowl. She's normally a miniature of her mother, but such a contrary expression had never graced Lady Sybil's sweet face in her life, not even during her rebellious period. Thomas couldn't help but chuckle and ruffle the girl's hair. The spirit of her father's people did dominate her demure English roots.

 

They go for their walk. Since Lady Mary had relocated to London after Master George was born, loath to stay in a place with so many painful ghosts haunting the gilded hallways, the rest of the family had started to spend more time away. Lord and Lady Grantham have taken to splitting their time between Mary's city estate, their summer home in the north and Mrs Levinson's in New York. Mr Branson was the only one who technically lives at Downton full-time, but he has business that takes him to the city every other week. The house is currently devoid of residents save for their little miss. It makes for quiet days, but allows Thomas to cater to his favourite princess. 

 

It's an odd stroll; he has to walk a few paces behind miss Sybil in order to keep her cape from trailing. They circle the house, wander through the greenhouses. The girl is uncharacteristically quiet, walking with her chin tucked down sulkily. Thomas is at a loss as to what to do. That conversation was not one that he'd ever expected to have with anyone, let alone his four-year old mistress. 

 

They make it to the roses in silence, and then the girl spins around, yanking the sheet out of Thomas' hands. He winces as the white fabric sweeps under the planters and into the dirty shadows. "I changed my mind." She declares, striking a regal stance, bejeweled hands on her narrow hips, "Jimmy isn't a prince anymore."

 

Thomas can feel the surprise on his face, so he stoops to retrieve the sheet to hide it. Miss Sybil loves Jimmy; he's probably her favourite after Thomas, Anna and Mr Carson. They all have their roles in her little world, Mr Carson is the royal wizard, Anna the fairy helper with her fairy husband Mr Bates. Mrs Hughes is the good-witch, Mrs Patmore the dwarf queen, Daisy and Ivy her ladies-in-waiting. Even O'Brien occasionally appears as the fire-breathing dragon. Alfred is the royal steed, and Jimmy and Thomas are her princes. This demotion is alarming, especially since, as far as he knows, Jimmy hasn't done anything to lose favour.

 

"Why do you say that highness?" He asks evenly, "Did he displease you? Do I need to defend your honor?"

 

"He doesn't want to marry you." She pouts, "And it's my fault."

 

"Love no!" Thomas says, slipping on the endearment, but there's no one to hear the faux pas. "You have nothing to do with how Jimmy feels-"

 

"So I'm fixing it!" She crows, ignoring his protests, "I'm going to make him a princess. Then you can get married."

 

Thomas blinks. He really should be addressing this, dissuading this impossible notion of hers and emphasizing the importance of not suggesting such things to anyone else ever, but the image of Jimmy done up in one of the dowager's old dresses has flashed in front of his eyes and now it's burned into his mind.

 

He slaps a hand over his mouth to keep from choking. So much lace...so many frills. "Miss Sybil." He says from behind his fingers, "I'm sure Jimmy would be...honored, but he can't be a princess."

 

"Yes he can! I say he can!"

 

"But Miss-"

 

"Shut up Thomas!" She wails, startling him silent. She scowls and smacks his leg. "Jimmy can be anything he wants, Papa says! And he's going to be a princess!"

 

"Well." Thomas says, voice strained from the effort not to laugh. "His hair is very...princessy."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jimmy runs his thumb over the tiny circles of amethyst delicately inlaid in the impossibly thin vines of silver so pale that its almost white. It's a beautiful piece of jewelry, with attention to detail that makes it hard to believe it was made by human hands. 

 

Its a lovely crown. It's not his crown. 

 

"Miss- Er...Princess Sybil." He says, laying the tiara, because there's no doubt that this is a tiara, not a crown. "This is...very pretty. But where's my crown?"

 

His usual headgear is the closest thing Miss Sybil's treasure chest to a real crown. It's bigger and heavier than the rest of the ornaments, with a more geometrical feel, and large rubies in a straight line around the base. It's still meant for a woman, but it doesn't look entirely silly atop Jimmy's blond head. 

 

"This one's better." Miss Sybil says with the finality of somebody unused to having her word questioned. 

 

"But...why?"

 

The little girl's eyes shift to glance toward the other side of the drawing room where Thomas is sitting on the floor. He has his own tiara on, and a napkin tucked into his collar. He looks ridiculous."I'm not allowed to tell you."

 

Jimmy sends a dark frown a the other man. "I thought nobody could tell a princess what she's not allowed to do."

 

The child freezes, as if this thought had not occurred to her. Slowly her pink lips curl into a delighted smile. "It's because you're a princess." 

 

"I'm a-!" In the background Thomas' shoulders are shaking with laughter, the porcelain tea cup in his hands rattling slightly against the matching saucer. Jimmy glares and glares, hoping that the older man's head will catch fire with his ire. Thomas sets the cup down on the table and dabs at his mouth with a handkerchief, composing himself. 

 

"You see Jimmy," he says serenely, "haven't I always said how pretty you are?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being heavily influenced by my frustration with homophobia. It is just about the easiest thing in the world to get a young child to understand homosexuality. Just tell a kid that some boys love other boys, and they just accept it, easy as pie. It's that simple!


End file.
